


Asylum

by Gwynne



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, You can't keep a good Naismith down.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwynne/pseuds/Gwynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom is where, and how, you find it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asylum

Gregor had been married for a month now, and he still found it difficult to keep the totally blitzed smile off his face at serious occasions. Like now. He’d just about made it through the morning security briefing.

Oddly enough, he had the impression that General Allegre was struggling to keep control too. He wasn’t really familiar with the man yet, he couldn’t read him the way he used to be able to read every nuance of Illyan’s glances, silences and minimal facial expressions. Gregor waited as the report finished, knowing that something else was coming.

Allegre held out for as long as he could, taking a slow, thoughtful sip of his coffee. It would have been more convincing if there’d been any coffee left in the cup. Then he broke, and glanced away, “There is just one more matter, Sire.”

“Mmm?” Gregor had earned an A+ in the Aral Vorkosigan Non-Committal Noises course.

“It’s the asylum seekers.”

Gregor sighed, “I thought the population loss had slowed since the wedding.” There’d been a small but significant trickle of Barrayarans heading for the rest of the galaxy ever since the end of the Cetagandan war. Barrayar made no move to stop them, people were free to move as they chose. These days it was often just to Komarr, or more likely Sergyar. Surprisingly, many of them came back sooner or later.

Allegre was really struggling now, “Er, no Sire, it’s not Barrayarans leaving. It’s asylum seekers arriving.”

Gregor frowned, “They’re looking for an asylum? Well, they’ve come to the right place.” He paused, “Wait, you mean there’s someone turned up wanting to stay here? We don’t get many new permanent immigrants.”

“Not someONE, Sire.” Allegre was spinning it out.

Gregor waited.

“It’s…two hundred and forty three of them. Sire.”

“Two hun… what? Who are they? Where are they – WHY?”

Allegre took a deep breath, “Well Sire, it’s…because of Lord Vorkosigan.”

Gregor rested his head on his hand, “I should have known. What’s he done now?”

“Actually, it’s not really his fault Sire, and it’s really because of Admiral Naismith.”

Gregor glared at him, “That’s not making it any better. Besides, Naismith is finished now. Isn’t he?” He had an awful thought – was Miles somehow keeping the little Admiral alive? But it wasn’t possible, he’d been too busy since he became an Auditor, and he’d been in and around Vorbarr Sultana during all the fuss for the wedding. Well, except for that trip to Komarr….

Allegre relented. Emperor-baiting was a notoriously dangerous sport. “They’re from Jackson’s Whole, Sire. A cargo ship roughly converted for passengers, and packed full of them. Scientists, body-slaves, some security personnel, house servants, technicians and all their families – a really mixed bag. They’re fleeing from about five different Houses.”

“General Allegre. Why are they here?” There was a hint of Imperial lack of amusement, enough to cause Allegre to sit up straighter and launch into the explanation.

“Sire, they’ve escaped from servitude – slavery really – on Jackson’s Whole. And they wish to live in freedom.”

“So they came to Barrayar?”

“Well, we don’t allow slavery. And we are signatories to the Galactic Agreement that prohibits it and offers sanctuary to escaped slaves. It’s just that…freed slaves don’t usually come here.”

“So why now?”

“They’re terrified of being recaptured by Jacksonian agents and being returned to their former owners. Or just being assassinated as a warning to others. They’ve figured that the only places they’d be safe are Barrayar or Cetaganda.”

“I suppose that’s a compliment of sorts. So we’re ahead of Cetaganda?”

“That’s where Lord Vorkosigan comes in.” Allegre wasn’t trying to hide the grin now.

“Of course. He would. And just how…?” Gregor could feel a Miles-induced headache coming on.

“Well, Sire…” Allegre was having the best time he’d had in ages, “Your wedding was covered by the galactic media. Romance, tradition, quaint native customs…” Both men shuddered slightly as they remembered the gushing foreign media, all of them swept up in the excitement of a full-on Barrayaran Imperial wedding. Gregor still had nightmares about it all. “And these Jacksonians saw the wedding coverage. And they saw Lord Vorkosigan – he was your Second, after all, so he featured in the vids.” And loved every minute of it, too. The wretched man practically PREENED himself in front of the vid-cams.

“But why…?”

“They recognised him, Sire. Well, they recognised Admiral Naismith. All of them had dealings, at some time, with the Dendarii, and the little Admiral. Several of them were shot by him, as a matter of fact. They seem rather proud of it now.”

Gregor sighed, only Miles could make you feel grateful that he’d shot you. “So…? I’m still not seeing a connection.”

“They decided that if Barrayar could accept Admiral Naismith, and provide him with a safe haven, we’d accept anyone. And since he’d obviously been given a new identity and already risen to a position of authority, they knew they’d be safe here. Apparently there was some loose network of people who’d dealt with Naismith and the Dendarii, some kind of intervid discussion group, and they all chatted about the idea of joining him here.”

Gregor glanced up, “They do know what Barrayar is like? They’d be subjects, not citizens.”

“It’s better than Jackson’s Whole. And a lot safer.”

“So they did do some research on the place?”

“Oh yes, Sire, quite a bit.” Allegre was really struggling now, “They’ve researched our social customs. And our systems of authority and allegiance. In fact, they’ve… er…they’ve found a way to belong.”

Gregor waited, expressionless. But even if this vaguely concerned Miles, it wasn’t his fault, and really he couldn’t be blamed for this. Could he?

“They… Sire… they read about… they’ve all sworn allegiance. To him. Miles. Admiral Naismith. Lord Vorkosigan. They say they’re all his armsmen and women now, according to our customs.” Allegre was having trouble breathing.

Gregor waited until he could speak smoothly, “They’re all sworn to him. To Miles. A Count’s heir. Over two hundred of them.” He took a breath, “It’s not binding, you know. He wasn’t there for the swearing. Was he?” He glanced up quickly, “Tell me he wasn’t there for the swearing.”

Allegre shook his head, rather too regretfully, Gregor thought, “No, Sire, it’s not binding at all. He doesn’t even know about it yet. After all, if he HAD done this, he’d be in violation of Vorloupulous’s Law. Again.”

“And be charged with Treason. Yet again. I’m losing count.”

“I could look it up for you, Sire.”

“Thank you, no.” Gregor rubbed his forehead and wondered if there were any painkillers in his desk drawer. The armsmen usually made sure he had a supply ready if Lord Auditor Vorkosigan was on his list for the day. “So what do we do with our new Barrayarans? Are they really genuine migrants, or is this some devious Jacksonian scheme?”

“They’ve all been fast-penta’d at least three times. And the ship has practically been taken apart. They’re quite genuine, they just want to start a new life in safety and freedom. On Barrayar. I wondered about the Southern Continent, Sire. I think they’d feel too close to home on Sergyar or even Komarr, but we always need new settlers on the Southern Continent. At least they can start there and we’ll watch them and sort them out in time.”

Gregor waved a hand in surrender, “Fine. But keep surveillance on them, and their communications. And see if any of them have useful skills – some of those scientists and technicians might come in handy.”

“Yes Sire.” Allegre stood up and gave a nod as a salute-substitute.

“Oh, Allegre?” Gregor looked up with an unholy grin, “Lord and Lady Vorkosigan are coming to lunch today, they’re probably with Laisa already. Would you send one of my armsmen to fetch Lord Vorkosigan please? And have him tell Lord Vorkisigan that it’s about his latest treason.”

Gregor rubbed his forehead again. His headache seemed to have gone. It was going to be a good day after all.


End file.
